


A Familiar Face (That's Not A Murderin' Sociopath)

by AssassinOfRome



Category: Hot Fuzz (2007), Shaun of the Dead
Genre: Casual swearing, Just the barest hints of Shoris, Late Night Phone Calls, Regional accents, Shaun is Nicholas' cousin, Vague Angelbutter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 12:48:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4349399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AssassinOfRome/pseuds/AssassinOfRome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A phone conversation between one Sergeant Thatcher, and one Shaun Riley. Set after the events of the film.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Familiar Face (That's Not A Murderin' Sociopath)

**Author's Note:**

> First published Cornetto Trilogy fanfic! Hopefully it doesn't suck too bad, though I haven't actually written in a long time. 
> 
> Technically this is part of a longer series, but only in the very vaguest sense. 
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment - I'm open to all suggestions (and most criticisms to be honest!) :D 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

What a fucking day. 

Doris Thatcher wanted nothing more than to curl up at her desk, with her now lukewarm tea, and drift off to sleep. It wasn’t rare for her to be dozy in the office – she did suffer from some terrible insomnia, and thus staying awake on slower days was hard. Today had been more exhausting than ever. 

It had been three days since everything had gone fuck up. The town was a mess; most of the residents were still pulling chunks out of the old station from their hair. With their hub gone, the might of the Sandford Police service had holed up in the youth centre, hidden amongst tottering towers of rulebooks. Nicholas was using the meagre games room as an office, though he’d managed to cram a desk in, next to the pool table. Phones littered the place, with calls flooding in from dawn til dusk. Usually, they could be dismissed in seconds, though the more confused locals did need a few minutes of patient explanation. Some grew angry, others upset, while many of the older residents denied the NWA’s actions completely. Officers from all over the country traipsed in, with heavy questions and stacks of paperwork that made even Nicholas cringe. 

Still, very few of the original Sandford department were still functioning. Bob had suffered a heart attack during the explosion, and though he was fine, was getting hospital treatment in Buford Abbey. Tony had stayed home with his wife; she was pregnant, and hysterical as her grandmother was led away by police, her temple bloodied and glasses smashed. Danny still hadn’t woken up from his surgery, though the doctors said the initial prognosis was good (and by that, they meant he’d defied all odds up until this point, so at least he had luck on his side.) 

That just left the Turner twins, the Andes, herself and Nicholas. At midday, their detectives had been called away by severe looking members of the Met. For once they looked frightened; this level of obliviousness was almost suspicious, and they’d never been the most thorough officers. However, they’d called several hours later, saying everything was fine, and that the seniors just wanted them to give a full account of what they knew. Luckily, the observations they’d conducted on Eve Draper and Martin Blower were convincing enough to show a dedication to the job. They’d be back, bright and early, tomorrow morning, God be good. 

The Turners had left at roughly nine o’clock, to check on their own mother, who as well as making an outstanding Christmas cake, was not a member of the NWA, and had grown very confused about all the destruction. The twins had patted her and Nicholas on the shoulder as they left, and though the sergeant tensed, he did appreciate the small gesture. Doris had made the hot drinks shortly after that, and relocated to the main room, leaving Nicholas in his “office”. 

The phone trilled irritatingly, and she groaned, setting down her mug with an audible thump. Usually, the Andes would provide an equally unenthusiastic encore, but their absence made the empty office seems claustrophobic. She chided herself; they needed to give their statements to the Met, just as she was needed here to hold down the fort. 

“’ello?” She asked, the smooth plastic comfortingly cradled in her hand. Again, she shook herself – remember the proper procedure, Doris. Use your police voice. “Sandford Police Department, Sergeant Thatcher speaking.” 

“It’s Shaun here, Shaun Riley.” The man spoke as if his name had significance, but Doris couldn’t recall having ever heard it before. “May I speak with Sergeant Angel, please?” 

“’e’s not taking any calls at the moment, sir, ‘specially not from the press.” Her tone was biting, but she cast a worried glimpse at the blonde officer all the same. Nicholas looked exhausted, bent painfully over his desk as he filled out yet more paperwork. The tea she’d made sat sadly by the pen-pot, ignored. 

“I’m not a journalist.” The man sounded more anxious than offended, dragging Doris’ attention away from the sergeant. “Not by half. I’m Nicholas’ cousin – his emergency contact. The hospital phoned me, and told me about what happened.” 

“News travels fast.” Doris interjected, before she could stop himself. The man – Shaun – made a soft sound of agreement; she could almost picture him nodding. Now that she paid a little more attention, she could hear the faint whirring of a washing machine, and the crackle of movement, as if he were pacing. 

“I just… I wanted to know if he’s alright. The hospital said he wasn’t hurt but… they’re not always the same thing.” His casual astuteness was enough to make Doris blink. She glanced again at the sergeant, who was now rubbing his hand, the pained wince aging his face more than one hundred years of sternness. Yet he carried on, switching the pen over to his right hand. Odd. She’d never noticed he was ambidextrous. 

“’e’s… he’s alright.” She said after a moment’s pause. “’e’s not in no pain. Nothing can break our Angle.” Flashes of that morning entered her mind – the rigid set of Nicholas’ spine, as he bounced the comments off like armour; the Andes gleeful smile as they circled the typo, pasting the article over the sergeant’s locker; her own suggestion to write 'Twat' on the brim of his cap, and their sniggering as he saw the inscription. Suddenly, it didn’t seem quite so funny. 

“Sergeant Thatcher?” The interference of motion had stopped, as Shaun paused, worried. She felt awful for winding him up, though she couldn’t stop zoning out. Maybe she was more tired that she thought. Still, she wasn’t as bad as Nicholas. She wondered how long ago he’d got a decent night’s sleep – going by the shadows under his eyes, she’d put her money on the better part of a fortnight. 

“’e’s just a bit shook up, is all. Danny – his partner – he got himself a bit banged up. Took a bullet for Angel, and ‘asn’t woken up since. I think, given the choice, ‘e’d be at the hospital with ‘im. We’d let ‘im go too; that’s where he should be. But he won’t go. Not during work ‘ours, at least. Bloody workhorse, that one.” 

“I think it helps him feel safe.” Shaun replied, sounding a little relieved. Clearly the notion of Nicholas working through his issues was familiar. “He’s always struggled with emotions – work lets him channel it into something productive.” 

“Hear, hear!” She agreed, gesturing with her pen. It was enough to catch the sergeant’s eye, who shot her a confused frown. “Would… would you like to speak with him? I know I said ‘e wasn’t-“ 

“No, no, it’s alright. Just enough to know that he’s alright. I’ll ring in a couple of days, when it’s all calmed down a bit. Should I give you my number, in case you need me?” 

“Good plan.” She nodded enthusiastically, which was enough for Nicholas to mouth confused words at her through the glass. He made to stand, but she waved him down, grabbing her notepad to jot down the number. Something half-hearted inside her squirmed – even after all these years, she still took delight in getting a boy’s number. She wondered vaguely what Shaun Riley was like. In her head, she pictured another Nicholas, younger, with longer hair, and smile lines. He sounded nice enough over the phone, kind even. Concerned, which is something their Angel needed. “I’ll keep you updated on the case, and on Nicholas’ condition. Do you think you could pop up in the next couple of weeks? I think he needs to see a familiar face that’s not a murderin’ sociopath, or in uniform. That is, assuming you’re not a copper too?” 

“Not in the slightest.” Shaun chuckled at this, a strangely sunny sound in the dim office. Definitely laughter lines on this one. “No, Nicky’s our proper copper. Only don't tell him I told you that - he always hated that nickname, even when we were kids." 

"Don't worry." Doris tried to translate her sauciest wink into a tone of voice. "Just our little secret, Shaunie." 

"I’m sort of between jobs at the moment." There was a shifting on the other end of the phone, as he blurted this out. She could practically hear him blushing, and the mere thought made her smile. "The upside being, I can visit whenever, but the downside…” 

“I know wha’ you mean. I wasn’t plannin’ on being an officer, but look at me now.” Doris began to doodle on the pad, first drawing a few flowers and clouds, before graduating onto a more serious sketch. It started as Nicholas, looking scowly and stern, but the eyes were too sad, and the shoulders slumped, so she scribbled it out. He still glanced up at her, betrayal jarringly evident for a collection of lines. “It’s not always easy finding wha’ you love.” 

“That’s why I’m so glad Nicky-Nicholas always knew what he wanted.” Shaun paused, before giving a little sigh. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I’d best be letting you get on – can’t be wasting any police time, eh? Is it busy?” 

“It’s quieter now, but yeah, it was. Thanks for calling, by the way. I’ll let Angel know you rang.” 

“Thanks.” He sounded genuine, if a little hesitant. “I’ll let you enjoy the rest of your evening.” 

“What’s left of it, anyways.” Doris gave a little smile, as he laughed again. Several seconds later, the phone gave a little beep, and he was gone. The phone slotted easily back into its cradle, and she placed the notepad back onto her cluttered desk. From this angle, at least, the sketch didn’t seem so sombre. Doris gave it a little tap, as she stood, wobbling slightly as the blood flowed to her toes. She’d forgotten she was wearing her tighter work shoes. Slowly, she limped over to Nicholas’ “office” and tapped on the door. His voice was hoarse when she entered. 

“Best be getting home, Chief.” The term slipped out, but it felt right. The sergeant’s eyes widened, and his fingers tightened minutely on his biro. “It’s gone ten.” 

“But-.” There was a flash of fear in his blue-grey eyes, and Shaun’s comment about safety flowed back to her. She stepped forward, and eased the pen from his grip, patting the sergeant’s hand. 

“It’ll all still be here tomorrow, Nick.” There was still some uncertainty in his eyes, but the blonde nodded, giving his eyes a little rub. “Now it’s time to get some rest.” 

Nicholas eased himself to his feet, a little unsteady himself. As he moved, she could see the bulky dressing over his shoulder brush against his shirt, a little too pink for her liking. In any other situation, she would fluster and fuss, but one look in the officer’s eyes told her any interfering would be more than he could bear. Instead, she took a step back, allowing him to straighten his immaculate work. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” He asked, not looking up. That was enough to make her cock an eyebrow, arms folded over her chest. 

“I’ll save the lecture on sleeping in squad cars for t'morrow.” She sniffed, trying to imitate his more official tones. The façade crumbled when she saw his horrified confusion – despite it all, his disgusted face was still enough to make her smile. “But right now, I’ve got a sofa bed with your name on it. I promised I'd keep my eye on you, and I won't stop now.” 

And there it was, that bloody smile. Danny hadn't been exaggerating when he said it was like sunshine through rainclouds (though she'd never repeat that to anyone else - they had enough on their plate without that nonsense). It practically lit up the gloomy room, and for the first time, Doris noticed just how bright Nicholas' eyes could get. 

"Thank you, Doris. I mean it." 

"I know you do, Nicky." She smirked. The last comment was worth it, just to see his utter bewilderment. She’d leave the full explanation for the morning. As the lights flickered off for the last time that evening, one scribbled sketch gave a little smile, glancing up at the number above it. 

A number now casually adorned with hearts.


End file.
